Dolls
by Pyjamas
Summary: They were just puppets in a world he'd built to escape.
1. One

**I've** **had exams all week; it's been so horrible. I wrote this over a few days, so if it seems to jump around in mood, that'll be why. And.** **For once, it's not Ryou centric, it's Joey, with the classic and slightly overused abusive father thing. I don't own Yugioh. Uh…is that it? Well, I can't think of anything else that needs to be written so I won't bother.**

DOLLS

"_You're a fucking disappointment."_

Joey lay on the other side of the locked door, rocking back and forth gently, on his side facing the window. He was curled in a ball shape, arms wrapped around his knees, teeth gritted, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as much as he could even if he couldn't see properly. With each time that that man hammered forcefully on the door, Joey tensed and tried with everything he had to pretend this didn't happen.

"_You can never do anything right, can you?"_

He couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, and let a few sobs escape as he felt the built up tears fall across his nose. The pillow was cold and wet on his face. The man seemed to get worse every day. Yesterday, Joey had closed his front door quietly enough to avoid diverting the man's attention from the TV. He had walked as softly as he could to the end of the hallway and, after turning his head to the right in order to check that the man was sitting in the living room, turned left into the corridor that led to his bedroom. He had never felt so sick in his life as he did when he heard himself kick an empty beer can, and in turn the TV being switched off.

He had to get up early the next day to make sure the bruises were hidden.

"_You're worth less than nothing."_

As soon as he could, Joey opened his eyes again, and they refilled quickly with tears. It hurt to shut his eyes; he must have had a bruise developing somewhere. He wouldn't have been surprised. Today he had got home from school, opened the front door, crept inside and closed the door again very quietly. He'd thought he might have been unnoticed until he turned around and found himself facing that man. He had been waiting for him. The calm abuse rapidly turned into shouting, and Joey hadn't been able to avoid many of the fists and feet that were being thrown in his direction. God knows how he'd managed to get past the man, into his room and lock the door.

He wanted his dad back.

"_Your mother should have had a fucking abortion."_

Then he wasn't there anymore. The yelling and banging was reduced to a dull, monotonous garble, and he was standing on some white railings looking out at the sparkling, blue sea. There was a slight breeze, but not enough to make him lose his balance, and there wasn't a single cloud in the clear, still sky. The warmth of the sun was heating up the top of his head. Flowers of every colour were growing in small groups in the field behind him; they looked like they were made of paper. He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath and proceeded to throw himself off the railing and down towards the huge rocks and white, frothy waves.

The scene replayed itself over and over until he was standing inside his front door, with that man lying battered and bruised on the floor. He simply stood there; anger in his eyes and a baseball bat in his hand at his side. Then the man tried to stand up, growling, angrier than ever that his son had had the nerve to beat him up; he was about to try and punch him, but his leg gave way. Joey seized the opportunity and swung the bat with everything he had. It connected to the man's head with a sickening crack.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew they weren't real. He knew they were just his puppets in a world he'd built, and he knew that eventually he'd have to wake up and face the fact that the man was swearing at him through his bedroom door. But not yet. He'd come back and face it later. But right now he was somewhere else. His world had been made as an escape. An escape it would stay.

**Whatcha** **think? Tell meee. I expect (well, hope) to see lots of reviews in my inbox when I come back on Monday afternoon.**


	2. Two

**Back to school on Thursday.** **Humph. Anyway, a couple of people asked if this was going to be continued, and although I wasn't originally planning to, I changed my mind. I don't own Yugioh.**

DOLLS

His steps were as slow as always; he never wanted to go to his house. That man would be there, and although there was a 50/50 chance that that man be asleep in front of the TV with an empty beer can falling out of his hand, he didn't want to take the chance. But he couldn't walk too slowly; that man would scold him for being late back. If that man was sober enough to be able to tell the time.

His eyes were bloodshot and downcast so no one saw the sadness. One hand was scrunched up in his pocket so no one saw the cut up knuckles. His bag was heavy on his shoulder and digging painfully into a large bruise. No one seemed to care as he walked down the street, past both strangers and familiar faces. But why should they care? He was just another teenage screw-up. No one seemed to notice when his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth were gritted, with nothing to do but walk and wonder whether he'd last the rest of the day. He could only dread what that man might do when he got back.

The closer he got to his destination, the more intense the fear of beatings grew. Upon reaching the stairs which led to his front door, he had to pause and take a deep breath. He couldn't go in there while he was panicking; it would just increase the chances of his legs getting broken. He had to be as calm as possible. At least that way he'd have a chance of getting to his room and locking the door before that man did. Taking the first step, it made a clang the way metal steps do. He found himself fearing for his life all over again, with the sense of dread making a horrible feeling in his stomach. There was nothing he could do to prepare himself for what he might have coming. Just take the stairs as quietly as he could, go inside as quietly as he could, and lock himself in his room as quietly as he could.

He put his key into the lock and turned it until it stopped, but he didn't push the door open. He just couldn't, however much he knew that he should and however much he knew that that man might have heard him unlock the door and would be making his way to the hallway just to greet him and welcome him home from school. He physically couldn't push the door open. His body wouldn't let him because in the back of his mind, he knew the potential consequences.

For a good five minutes he stood, holding the key in the door, trying to calm his breathing. He couldn't stand there forever. At one point or another, he'd have to go inside, and there'd be nothing he could do to escape except run as fast as he could and hope that man was drunk enough to stumble. He had to go in. Squeezing his eyes shut and hitting himself on the head briefly, he pushed the door.

Upon opening his eyes again, he was surprised to see a lifeless hallway.

Nothing except bottles and cans littering the floor. That man must've been watching TV, or with any luck he was asleep. Wherever he was, Joey certainly wasn't going to waste this opportunity to go without getting hit. He shut the door behind him quietly, and made his way down the hallway to peer into the living room. That man wasn't on the sofa either. He figured that he must've been in the kitchen getting another drink. It was a rare occurrence that that man didn't notice him coming back, but whenever it did occur it was like rain after a drought. He didn't stop to ponder; he just legged it down the other hallway to his room and rapidly turned the key to make sure the door was locked.

Joey was safe up until the moment he turned around and found himself face to face with that man, and there had never been a time when he'd felt so sick.

The horrible mixture of shock and fear caused him to gasp seconds before a fist came sharply into contact with his stomach. His legs gave way beneath him and he fell to the floor, choking, desperately trying to replace the air which had been knocked out of his lungs. He wasn't quick enough. The man's foot had caught the side of his nose with a sickening crack before he had managed even half a mouthful of air and the force of the kick made his head shoot back into the wooden door. The impact created splinters.

Joey knew he needed to move. If he stayed in the small space between that man and the locked door, he'd be beaten unconscious. There would be no escaping the strikes to come, and he'd have to go to school the next day covered in nasty looking cuts and bruises and patches of raw skin, making up an obscure but believable story as to their origin. On the other hand, however, there wasn't any time to move. Not with the blood pouring from his nose and the difficulty he was having with opening his eyes and the extent to which his hands and arms wouldn't stop shaking. There was no way he could move as quickly as he needed to in that state. Blow after blow, kick after kick, they were just coming too fast for him to do anything but shift enough to change his expression to match the pain.

The man was snarling. "You ungrateful shit. Who do you think you are, huh? I'll tell you who you are, you're scum. Cheap, pathetic, filthy scum. I wish I'd never had a son."

He continued, but Joey didn't hear what he was saying. This was partially because the repetitive attacks on his head had distracted him, but another thing was distracting him more – while the man was talking, he wasn't hitting him. If Joey was going to have any chance at getting out, this was it. He shifted onto his belly, and then forced himself onto his hands and knees. The man, fortunately for him, was too drunk to realize that his son's movement had a purpose. He glanced over the floor, looking for anything that might aid him, and for a moment the outlook was bleak. However, just as the man was finishing his little speech, Joey's eyes fell upon a white wire, and he remembered he lamp on his desk. It was his only hope. With all the strength and speed he could muster, he reached out to grab the wire and swung it in the direction of that man.

Joey couldn't believe his luck when he heard a cry of pain and saw that man fall to the floor with his legs together and his hands in his groin. He recovered enough to pull himself away from the corner he was in, and furiously searched for something a little more helpful. Drawers were pulled open and the contents glanced at, and clothes on the floor were flung aside in case anything was hiding beneath them. He began to panic when he heard groans coming from that man and he still couldn't find anything he could use. He went through the drawers again, this time taking a second or two to pay attention to what the contents were and whether they could be used in any way at all. It was when he heard the man beginning to get back up that he looked up at the window with wide eyes and prayed to whatever almighty powers that might exist to help him.

"You useless fuck! I swear to God I'll kill you!"

Time had run out. That man had recovered sufficiently, and there was nothing left to do except hope and pray. From the corner of his eye he saw the form of the furious man approaching him, his fist pulled back and his face a murderous image; he grabbed the closest object to him, swung it with all the fear, anger, sadness and hate he had towards the man and screamed.

His eyes were shut so he couldn't see the consequence, but he felt the impact of his object coming into contact with his target, heard the shatter of glass and the resulting thud of a person falling to the floor. He didn't want to look. As long as he didn't look, he wouldn't know what he'd done, and wouldn't have to think about it. He was afraid. But, at the same time, he had to know. Slowly he brought his arm back down to his side, still clutching the object like a lifeline. He was breathing so quickly and his heart was beating so fast and he found it in himself to open his eyes and survey the damage. The first thing he noticed was the motionless form of that man on the floor in front of him, and very soon afterward the shards of glass that not only covered a small area of the carpet but were also embedded in numerous places over the man's body. Then the blood; it streamed from a large wound in the man's head and was forming a small pool on the floor beside him, and was surrounding many of the pieces of glass stuck in his skin. But it wasn't only his blood. Joey's own blood, when he was able to look elsewhere, had produced a thin trail on the floor from the broken lamp to his desk as well as made a huge, dark red patch on his white door. When he looked down at himself he found that the front of his shirt had also been stained red during the confrontation.

He didn't look back up. He couldn't. The damage was too great for him, and however much he would try later to convince himself otherwise, deep down he knew that what he had done was irreversible. He could feel a lump in his throat, and he decided that he wanted to deal with this later instead of now. He considered going to sleep, or going for a walk, or making a sandwich, but all of those options would involve moving, and he didn't want to do that. So he just stood, stared at his feet and let his trembling hand drop the broken vodka bottle to the floor with a soft thud.

**Well, yeah. I'm not quite sure how people react when they kill someone. There'll be one more part to this, I think. Review please.**


	3. Three

**Here we go, last instalment of this fic. I don't own Yugioh, etc, etc. Apologies for any errors, I haven't checked it.**

DOLLS

Joey sat up and rubbed his eye with the back of his bruised knuckle, vaguely wondering what the time was. When he noticed the blind on his window was only halfway down and the light coming in was a light, bright colour, making his room look like it was glowing, he decided that it must be late afternoon or early evening.

Upon observing his room and its state – relatively dirt-free carpet, a few clothes scattered about and clean enough walls and door – he also began to doubt that it was the date he had previously thought it was. Where were the drawers he had pulled out? Where were the pieces of glass and the broken bottle? What had happened to the bloody marks all over the place?

He stood up slowly, taking in the way everything looked, and made his way towards the window. Peering outside he became aware of the fact that there wasn't a lot of life about and the sky that had been turned a bright mixture of yellows, pinks, reds and oranges, which confirmed his estimate of the time. His hand reached out towards it, and he let his fingers gently glide over the glass. It looked so pretty and peaceful – how he wanted things to be all the time. Peaceful, calm, tranquil. Not a car in the road, nor a person in the street.

Joey sighed, and turned his head to face the door. His being slightly more awake this time meant that he noticed something which, now that he'd taken it in, bothered him a little. His face taking on a puzzled expression, he started in the door's direction. It was ajar; he never left it ajar. Like he was in a trance, or as if it would attack him, he wouldn't take his eyes off it. He failed firstly to notice the blood stained clothes he trod on as he walked, and afterwards the lack of splinters in the door.

When he arrived in front of the door he stopped, and just looked at it. He wanted to open it and walk outside. He wanted to shut it and go back to sleep. It's being ajar, however, prevented him from doing anything except looking. He stood and looked at it for a long time. He couldn't hep but wonder why it was ajar; had he left it like that? He couldn't have; he'd never take such a risk. That man could've come in easily and surprised him if he left it ajar. But no one else apart from that man was there to leave it like that.

He reached out, took hold of the handle and pulled the door fully open. The door to the bathroom opposite was open also, and from his position in his own doorway he could clearly see, through the bathroom window, the sun beginning to set behind some houses in the distance. The light glared at him, and he had to squint. It was as quiet as anything, no noise at all. He stepped out into the corridor and turned to the entrance to the living room. The late afternoon sunlight had formed a few rays of light through the corridor, and Joey could see quite a large amount of dust floating about where the light was shining. It made the place look old and unused.

As there was no noise, there was no reason not to go on. He took each step carefully, making sure he didn't kick any empty beer cans that would make a noise. He didn't want the tranquillity to be ruined. The closer he got to the living room, the more he wondered what he'd do when he got there. Sit and watch TV for a bit? Cut through the living room and go get a drink from the kitchen? He scratched his nose and sniffed. The dust made him want to sneeze.

Eventually, when he got to the living room doorway, he was pleased to find it empty. The TV was off instead of on standby, the smell of alcohol was very weak and no pieces of furniture were the wrong way up. He smiled to himself, satisfied, and walked through to the kitchen. He hadn't been in the kitchen for weeks, and it was a good feeling to be able to get himself a drink without any interference. Once the fridge was opened, however, he was forced to turn his head away and wrinkle up his nose in disgust. No food had been wrapped up to prevent it going off, and there were very few products that weren't growing. The cheese was completely green, and the ham was discoloured and nasty looking. The lid for the milk hadn't been replaced, which had caused that to go off too, and which was also contributing to the majority of the smell.

Joey shut the fridge, having been thoroughly put off the idea of having a milkshake, and instead turned to the counter where orange squash was kept. He made himself a glass, and leaned against the counter taking a sip at a time. He hadn't had orange squash in so long, he'd almost forgotten how nice it tasted. The entire glass was drunk in complete silence on his part. The only noise that could be heard was the faint sound of a few birds nesting outside.

He set his empty glass down next to the sink. This was the way things were supposed to be. He was content, and it was a nice feeling. Retracing his steps through the living room, he picked up his discarded jacket from the floor, having decided that his next move was to go for a walk. When he got to the front door he turned back, and took one more look at his empty, quiet home before going outside and shutting the door gently behind him.

**Well, what do we all think? I personally don't think this part is one of my best, but you can decide for yourself. And, if you found it a bit confusing, good. I wanted it to be that way. If you didn't find it confusing though, either I did it wrong or you're clever and I take my hat off to you. Anyway, review pleeease.**


End file.
